


Hope is in the Ruins

by Ruby_Wren



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Feels, But with a happy ending, Farewells, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 18:15:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8588716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wren/pseuds/Ruby_Wren
Summary: After rescuing Nathaniel Howe from the Deep Roads, Hawke and friends throw a farewell party for the Warden, which brings up a lot of old memories, and old feelings, for Anders.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hope is in the Ruins](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/242068) by @ littlexabyss. 



> This entry for Glow Bang 2016 was inspired by @littlexabyss' playlist — Hope is in the Ruins. The link is above. Check it out, it's amazing! And many many thanks for @littlexabyss for her ideas and help!

 

The Hanged Man was hot and crowded.  It usually was by this time of night, but tonight seemed busier — louder — than usual.  Usually Anders didn’t mind.  All the voices on the outside helped distract from the one in his head.  Tonight, though…

Above the din, he heard Hawke’s laugh; loud, rich, reckless.  And another one just underneath it, a short rasp that could’ve easily turned bitter.  That laugh…  Anders picked up his mug.  It was mostly empty.  That was happening a lot, more so tonight.  He knew he was responsible, but he never remembered actually drinking them; somehow his drinks kept emptying themselves.

Tonight the Hanged Man thronged for a special occasion — a farewell party.  Celebrating a job well done, especially considering that job had taken place in the Deep Roads; call a toast because, thank the Maker, they were still alive; and wish Nathaniel Howe well as he departed.  Judging by the volume, this one might actually take.

The last three attempts to set Nathaniel’s feet on the road hadn’t.  The last three times there had a bird at the last minute, a report that had to be sent to the other Wardens, a frantic report _from_ the other Wardens — Anders hadn’t been surprised when Nathaniel pushed back his departure for a few days, and then a few more.  Not entirely surprised.  It was like that sometimes; Wardens were spread out, and new orders could be slow-going, but when something did happen, it tended to happen fast.

Anders didn’t mind.  Of course he didn’t — Nathaniel was his friend, and… no one else seemed to mind either.  Hawke embraced any excuse to throw a party, and Varric hadn’t put up much of an argument.  No surprise there, Anders thought, not when she grinned at Varric like that.  Hawke didn’t smile at anyone else quite like that; Anders wondered that Varric wasn’t aware of it.  He wondered sometimes that Hawke didn’t seem to know it either.  Isabela was holding court with a throng of admirers; she never objected to a party.  Aveline did, but that wasn’t much of a surprise, and Fenris —

Anders spun his empty mug in small circles on the sticky tabletop.  Better not to think about Fenris.

At the moment Fenr… _that gentleman_ was sitting at a table with Aveline and Merrill, brooding over a barely touched mug of ale.  It was a good choice.  The company, not the lack of drinking.  Merrill talked enough for three people, and didn’t seem to mind if you weren’t listening.  And Aveline never tried to drag conversation out of anyone.  Anders nearly considered joining them, except… that wasn’t wise.  So he was sitting by himself, which probably wasn’t any better.  Their littler cluster of tables was close enough to the grand show to make it appear as if they were involved, but still; Hawke noticed when people were on their own

Though she was a little distracted at the moment.

“Can.”

“Can’t.”

“ _Can_.”

Through the crowd, Anders saw Hawke spin on her feet.  She was always moving.  He’d seen her after fights, bones broken and face bloody, and still moving, sometimes it seemed out of nothing more than sheer will.  He wondered sometimes how she did it.  Even across the dim tavern, Anders could see the gleam in her eye.

Varric pre-empted him.  “No.  Not here.  We’ve been kicked out of every other reputable place.  If you get us thrown out of this disreputable one, we won’t have any place left to drink.  You want a shooting contest, we can find someplace better.  I’ll even bring Bianca.”

“That’s not fair,” Hawke protested.  Varric could thread the eye of a needle with Bianca.

“No, it’s not.  But it’ll annoy you.”

Hawke rolled her eyes, but she was grinning as she put her bow back on the hook.  There was a row of them by the door; Corff, the bartender, didn’t insist on many things, but conspicuous weapons were hung up in plain sight before you could get a table or a drink.  Anders wasn’t sure if it helped; Isabela, for one, had any number of ways to kill someone hidden and handy about her person all the time.

Nathaniel smirked, and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t protest.  “We’ll have to try our skill against each other another time, my lady.”

Hawke screwed up her face at that, but underneath she was grinning.  Underneath, Hawke was always grinning.

Isabela had secured one of the coveted seats by the fire, her long legs stretched out on the table in front of her.  She smiled, slow and sultry, and all but purred up at Nathaniel.  “Does that mean we’ll be seeing you again in our fair city?”

Nathaniel shrugged as he took a drink, but his eyes met Anders over the rim of his mug.  “Perhaps.”

“Don’t break my heart on ‘perhaps’, Howe.”

Varric snorted.  “Didn’t think you had a heart to break, Rivaini.”

The captain’s smile was as bright and deadly as a jeweled blade.  “Of course I do, Varric.  Everyone does.  It’s just that not all of us waste them mooning over long lost loves, like in a soppy romantic novel.”

Varric’s “very funny” was more sardonic than usual, and he pretended not to notice the awkward way Hawke turned to head to the bar.  At least, Anders thought he was pretending.  Varric prided himself on his perception; he couldn't _not_ see it.  Anders couldn’t believe the dwarf was that willfully blind.  Perhaps he was just being kind.  The wrong word at the wrong time — the honest word — could ruin things.  Better to leave things as they were, rather than risk ruining everything on a chance of might be.  Perhaps he was trying to spare them both.

Anders did not let himself think about Fenris.

“... thank you for this.”  Nathaniel’s voice pulled Anders attention back.  He had approached while Anders was watching Hawke, and though his voice was quiet, Anders still gave a small start.  Nathaniel appeared not to notice, continuing,  “I won’t have a chance tomorrow.  I’ll be heading out in the morning.”

“Do you mean it this time?”  Fenris’ voice was dry.

Nathaniel nodded curtly  “This time, yes.  The queen — our Warden-Commander — has been getting some interesting reports from Weisshaupt.  She’s decided to send an representative.  Fortunately for me — or unfortunately,” he added.  His dark eyes flicked towards Anders again, holding his gaze, a mute question there.  Anders swallowed.

But he didn’t look away.

“I suppose it depends on how much you like snow.”  Varric knocked back the rest of his drink.

“Oh, I quite like it!”  Merrill perked up, excitement lighting up her face.  “One winter, my clan camped in the Brecilian Forest, the snows were so deep we were nearly stuck there until summer!  Fenn and I kept trying to build a snow-halla, but we never could.  Legs were too skinny.  It kept toppling over.  Makes you wonder how the real ones manage to run around.”

There was the shriek of a chair as Fenris stood abruptly and went to the bar.

Anders watched Fenris go.  He didn’t trust the serving girls, Anders knew, and insisted on seeing the bartender pour his drinks himself.

Casually, Anders stood.  It was a little more difficult than he thought; he’d only had… five?  Six?  The bottle was littered with tables — or maybe the other way round, but he couldn’t be sure.  There were too many to count.

He should get another.  This was a party, he should be drinking.  As casually as he could, Anders strolled to the bar, following Fenris through the crowd.

Fenris didn’t look over.  Anders waved for the bartender, but the balding man was busy arguing with another patron.  “He'll be gone tomorrow.”

Fenris didn't look at him, but Anders could almost feel the skeptical expression. “So he says.”

“He will.”

There was a pause. “Alone?” The word was arch and bitter.

Anders glanced over, forgetting. “What?”

“Nothing.” Fenris gave a sharp nod to the bartender, but Corff was now flirting with one of the barmaids, oblivious. “You'd think he'd understand by now that serving drinks is a requirement if someone wants to tend bar.”

“Fenris — ”

“I said it's _nothing,_ mage,” Fenris snarled.  Then, more quietly, “He’s going to ask you to go with him.”

“What?”  Anders cast a glance at Nathaniel over his shoulder, realizing a little too late that he probably shouldn’t have.  “No.”

“He’ll give you the spiel about _once a Warden, always a Warden_ and _in peace, vigilance._ You’ll lap it up.”  Fenris’ voice was more than bitter.  It was acidic.

“He wouldn’t.  Nat, he — he knows me better than that.”  Anders stumbled over the last part.  He sensed Fenris still next to him. “I would never — I… Fenris, I - ”

He was keenly aware of the pool of silence between them, as the rest of the tavern shouted and sang and burst with noise.

They'd never offered words. Only anger — Maker, was there anger, from the first time Hawke dragged that skinny, bitter elf into his clinic. And mistrust, and heat.  And then one night after an ugly fight on the Storm Coast he'd been patching Fenris up, and they'd been sniping at each other as usual — and then they hadn't been. Somehow the anger and mistrust hadn't mattered. There was only the heat.

A sharp, shrill whistle cut the air, and Nathaniel clapped a hand on Anders shoulder as he waves to the bartender. This, Corff noticed. “Another round, if you please. On me,” he told them.

“Absolutely, ser.” Thom fetch clean, well, cleaner mugs straight away.  “We’re going to miss you around here.”

Of course they would, Anders thought.  Nobody drank like a Warden.  Not even Circle mages, and the poor sots there drank as if they wanted to die.  Which… mostly they did.  And it seemed that Nat may have found his sense of humor after all — he was brighter, easier to be with than Anders remembered.  The bartender set a full mug in front of Anders, and he knocked it back in one desperate gulp, then nodded for another.  He could sense Fenris frowning on one side; on the other, Nathaniel laughed.  “Well, I see you still drink like a Warden.”

Anders forced a smile.  He drank like a man with a spirit in his head; alcohol, he’d found, was the best way to make his mind his own for a little while.  Though, to be fair, the being-hunted-every-day part probably also had something to do with it.

With his seventh — eighth? — drink in hand, Anders made his way back to the small table.

The rest of the night passed through the filter of his mug.  He remembered picking up his mug, or a bottle, and it feeling heavy, sloshing and full.  More often he remembered picking up an empty mug and wondering, muzzily, when it had emptied.  At some point he realized that the tavern had quieted, and he looked up.

The Hanged Man had emptied out.  Aveline had gone, he saw, and Merrill was passed out across their table.  Varric was holding court by the fireplace, telling one of his Hawke stories.  It was the one about the ogre on the beach; Anders was pretty sure that one was true.

Anders pushed himself up awkwardly, all of the alcohol a sharp tang in the back of his throat, and felt a hand on his elbow.  “You all right?” Hawke asked.

“I’m fine.”  That came out a little abrupt, so Anders added, “Thanks.  I think I need to go home.  I’ve had a little too much fun, I think.”

“A little too much something,” Hawke agreed.  Her hand was still cupping his elbow.  “Do you want someone to walk you back?”

“I’ll be fine.  Thank you.”  That, he didn’t mind if it came out sharp.  “Where’s — ”  He managed to stop himself, but not before he cast a look around.

“Fenris?  He snuck out about an hour ago.  He didn’t say anything to you?”

“No.  Of course not.  Why would he?” Anders said abruptly.

He didn’t like the look on Hawke’s face.  It should’ve been a joke — she couldn't know, they’d been so discreet, and with Hawke almost everything was a joke — but this was sympathy.  Understanding.  Anders looked away.  He didn’t want to see it.  “Well, if you don’t know, I’m sure I don’t,,” Hawke said.

“Probably headed back to that castle of his, to go sit in the dark like a bat,” Varric added, waving for the serving girl to bring him another.

Anders nodded.  That, or the room started waving.  Either way, he hoped it looked casual.  “Good.  Right.  I should, um, I should go, too.”

Hawke gave him a sympathetic look and shrugged.  He wished he could take her sympathy without it making him feel so bitter.   _I wasn’t always like this, I swear I wasn’t_.  “You think so?”

“Yes.  Healer,” he added as an awkward explanation, waving a hand toward his own chest.  “Rest up for patients, and all that.”

“Right.”  Hawke nudged his shoulder, grinning.  “See you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Nathaniel called.  He jogged over, grabbing his bow and quiver off the hook by the door.  “I should go, too.  I’ll walk with you,” he added to Anders.

Anders tried to protest — or, at least, he knew he should, but the words wouldn’t come, and then Nathaniel said his farewells, and clapped a hand on Hawke’s back, and dropped a smacking kiss on Isabela’s mouth as she laughed, waved to the chorus of _farewell!_ and _good luck, Warden!_ and was walking out with him.  And somehow, as Anders turned and headed towards Darktown, Nathaniel was walking with him.

Anders swallowed hard, tried to think of something to say.  The cool night air cut through some of the fog in his mind, but his head was still swimming from all the alcohol.  

“You know, this is actually rather pleasant.” Nathaniel’s smile was sardonic as he surveyed the shadowed buildings and littered streets. “I think this is the first time I’ve walked through this city and haven’t had someone try to mug me.”  

“It’s better when you’ve gotten used to it,” Anders said, a little awkwardly.  It was too easy to fall back into step with him, into the old Warden stride.  Steady, relentless, slightly swinging gate that you could keep up all day.  Anders had to concentrate to _not_ match Nat’s pace.

“I won’t have that chance, unfortunately.”  Nathaniel winked at him.  “At least, not on this trip.”

Anders took in Nathaniel’s expression.  The twinkle in his eyes.  “You seem happy.”

“I am.”  He caught Anders’ eye, and they both grinned.  “Fighting darkspawn.  Constantly moving from place to place.  Rarely seeing my family.  I think my nephew is… fifteen?  Perhaps twenty, by now.  But, yes, I am happy.”  Nathaniel arched a dark eyebrow at him and his grin faded, became serious.  In that instant, he became the Nathaniel that Anders remembered — dry and thoughtful, almost humorless.  Anders swallowed hard as Nathaniel told him,  “And you’re not.”

Anders didn't bother to lie. He couldn't think of a convincing one, and in any case this was Nat.

“Cousland asked about you, you know.  She heard… well, she’s been worried about you.  She heard how you left.  She wasn’t happy about it.”

No, she wouldn’t be.  Elissa had been the one to give him the damn cat.  “Is that why you stayed?  Did she ask you to?”

Nathaniel gave a small shrug, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.  “It’s one reason.”  He swung around to face Anders, still keeping pace easily as he walked backwards.  “There are people that care about you, you know.”

“Yes.”  Anders nodded to the high city walls around him.  “Here, in Kirkwall.”

“Not just in Kirkwall.”

“I can't.  You wouldn't want me back. You wouldn't,” he rushed on before Nathaniel could say anything. “And I can't.”

“That's not the Anders I know.”

“ _I'm not the Anders you knew._ ”  He had to stop for a moment. He was shaking, he realized, and nearly gasping for air. He hadn't intended for it to come out like that.

He couldn't look at Nat. He didn't want to see his face. “I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to say that. Please, let's not talk about this,” he went on.

Which was the wrong thing to say, because Nathaniel stubborn as a pig.  And he wasn't smiling, not even a ghost of one anymore.  “This is the life you want?” Nathaniel demanded, spreading his arms, seeming to take in the whole city with the gesture, “Living in a hovel? One wrong word in the wrong ear and you have the Templars at your door? No real friends — ”

“I have friends.”

“Not like us. That lady-hawk of yours is remarkable, I'll grant you, but — if it comes down to it, if the Templars come to drag you off in chains, you really expect them to have your back?  A captain of the city guard?  A smuggler?”

“I don’t think a Warden is in any position to be picky about the company one keeps,” Anders spat back.  “Remind me who your father is again?”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed.  “This wouldn't have anything to do with the elf. Would it?”

Anders looked away, fighting the urge to tuck his arms in.  It was colder tonight, and the wind was like a knife as it raced through the city streets.  “I don't know what you mean,” he said tightly.

“The broody one, built like a willow branch, with all those tattoos.  Don’t play the fool with me, Anders.  I saw those looks, I saw the way you… ”

“No.”

“No?”

Anders thought about the quiet mornings on his cot. The touch of Fenris’ hand in his hair when he pretended to be asleep. “No.”

Nathaniel scoffed, but he didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip until they were standing in front of the clinic.  Terrible as he felt, Anders cast the lantern outside the door to life.  If someone needed his help, it didn’t matter how drunk he was, or how tempting it was to shut his eyes and simply sleep.  The lantern was a promise he made when he came to Kirkwall — to help, whoever needed it, whenever they needed it.  Because he could.  It was what proved the Templars wrong.  He went to unlock the door, feeling Nathaniel’s eyes on him and sighed.  “Nat, please.  Just.. .don’t.”

He could hear the hint of a smile in Nathaniel’s voice.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“I could hear what you weren’t saying.”  He knew what his clinic looked like.  He didn’t need any helpful remarks on it.

“Well, at least I wasn't saying it.” Nathaniel was quiet for a long moment. "I'm off to Ostwick next.  Cousland asked me to stop by their Circle, see about promising recruits.  Then onto Weisshaupt."

"All right."

"So you know where to find me."

“I do.”

"And I know where to find you."  The words were a purr, soft with promise, right behind him.

Anders turned back to find the distance between them had vanished.  He hadn't noticed. He hadn't been thinking. He never would've let Nathaniel get so close otherwise.  He would’ve stepped back, but there was nowhere to go.  Nat hovered, just a breath away.  “Wait.”

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow.  "You never used to hesitate in the Wardens."

No, he didn't.  Wardens didn't have time to hesitate.  "I'm not a Warden any longer."

There was that sharp grin again.  Nathaniel jerked him close, hands rough on his waist.  "I am."

The kiss was sharp and slick — it wasn’t sweet, Nat wasn’t sweet, but Maker damn it, he always did have style.  It wasn’t easy.  But it was familiar.  He remembered this, he remembered the Anders who wanted this.  For an instant, he gave himself up to it, the hands pulling him closer, the heat of Nathaniel’s mouth, the way his body pressed against him.  Then Fenris’ voice — _he’s going to ask you to go with him_ — echoed in Anders’ mind, and he knew he had already made his choice.

His hands came up, and pushed Nathaniel away.  Slowly, but firmly.  Nathaniel accepted it easily enough, but he was watching Anders. “I'll write you.”

Anders took a deep breath.  “I'd prefer it if you didn't.”

Nathaniel nodded.  His smile was a little sad.  “Good-bye, Anders.”

“Good-bye, Nat.”

He didn't stay to watch him walk away.

Inside, the clinic cool and empty, and one low lantern burning, Anders stripped to the waist and then washed his face with cold water, until his mind felt like his own again.

When he turned around, Fenris was there.

Anders sighed.  “I suppose I should ask you how long you’ve been standing there.”

Fenris didn’t answer.  He wasn’t surprised.  Anders wearily tugged the tie from his hair, letting it fall forward.  His head was already throbbing.  Tomorrow was going to hurt.  “You know, some people might consider this sort of behavior unsettling.”

“He’s gone.”  Fenris’ voice was low and rough as gravel.

“Yes, he’s gone.”

Fenris nodded.  His eyes darted to the door, and then once more to the ground.

Anders sat heavily on one of the cots.  “Why are you here?”

Fenris started at that, his gaze finally snapping to Anders.  “What?”

He should have said something bright and pithy, but he was too tired for that.  “Why are you here?”

Fenris shifted awkwardly.  “You know why.”

“Maybe I want to hear you say it.”

Fenris’ eyes flashed hot.  “I don’t play _games_ , mage — ”

Anders held up his hands.  “No.  No,” he said again, steady, holding Fenris’ gaze.  The elf had mentioned, briefly, when this started that his master liked to play games.  “Not like that. I meant — ” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away some of the pressure behind his eyes.  The alcohol wasn’t settling well; more, it was ganging up on him.  He could feel the headache building, like a storm on the horizon.  “It doesn't matter what I meant.  I’m tired.  And drunk.  And I can’t do this right now. Just… just go, all right?”

It was quiet long enough that he wondered if Fenris had left.  He didn’t hear Fenris leave, but then he hadn’t heard Fenris arrive either, but…

“I don’t want him to come back,” Fenris bit off.

Anders sighed.  “I can’t really control that.”

Fenris shifted.  The awkward little movement where he shifted his weight, rubbed one foot against his ankle.  It always looked to Anders like he was getting ready to run.  For an instant, Fenris dropped his gaze again, and then said slowly, deliberately, “I don’t want you to go with him.”

Anders couldn’t stop himself.  “No?”  It came out sharp, when it shouldn’t have.

This time Fenris held his gaze.  “No.”

It wasn’t a declaration.  They, this, whatever this was, they’d never felt the need for declarations.  They’d only felt the need.  That had been enough.  Anders told himself that was enough.

Looking at Fenris standing there, he knew it wasn’t.  Looking at him, Anders knew why he’d stayed.

“I love you,” he said.  “I’m in love with you.  And I’m sure that just ruined everything,” Anders continued wryly as Fenris flinched.  “But I’m too drunk and I’m too tired to care at the moment.”

Fenris didn’t say anything for a long moment.  “You’re a mage,” he began finally.

“I can’t help that.”

“Shut up.  You’re a mage,” Fenris said again.  “And you’re reckless.  And dangerous.  Heedless of the harm you put yourself and others in.  You have a demon inside you.  I don't like you.  But I’m glad you didn’t go.”  The anger left his face, and Anders only saw the fear.  The need.  The hope.  “I want you to stay.  Here.  With me."

Anders felt himself smile.  He knew his heart was in it, but he was too tired to stop it.  "I don't like you either.  But that’s what I want, too."

He held out a hand, and Fenris took it, and Anders pulled him down to the cot.  His mouth tasted like ice and fire.  It tasted like home.


End file.
